Perspective
by JacquiT
Summary: While trying to gain perspective on a case, Nick gets caught in an uncomfortable situation.


This was submitted for the 7th Nick Fic Song Challenge at Talk CSI. The song this was inspired by is "It Was An Accident" by Don Conoscenti. Hope you enjoy!

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Panic.

Overpowering everything for Nick – his vision, his hearing, the ability to think – was panic. He reached for his phone and dialed blindly, the blood on his hands making his fingers slip. His hands were trembling, his heart was racing, his breathing raspy and unsettled.

When he heard a click on the other end of the phone and who ever it was he'd called answer with a hello, he heard himself holler, frantic, loud, nonsensical. He crouched on the floor in the dark, hidden against a wall and behind a door, and put his free hand on his head.

"You gotta calm down, man!" said the person on the other end of the phone, his tone sharp.

"Okay, okay," huffed Nick, his voice still shaky. "Okay, I'm calm!"

The other man's tone was sharp but the sound was warbly, distorted. "What. Happened?"

"I don't know, I don't know man!" His own voice sounded foreign and now his sight was going fuzzy. All he could see was a man's body laying on the filthy carpet, bathed in the light coming in through the open door, blood pooling around it, and the gun he'd thrown down next to it in horror of what he'd done. "I just . . . I was comin' home and unlocked the door, and this guy came up behind me and the next thing I know I'm firin' his gun at him . . . I didn't know what I was doing, I don't know this guy, I don't-"

"You _shot_ the guy?" Nick could still not place the voice on the other end of the phone; his mind was seized with fear.

"Yes, yes!" he hollered back. "I didn't mean to . . . I swear to God I didn't mean to! It was an accident!"

"Aw, shit, Nicky," said the anonymous voice. It was deep and scratchy, like he was hearing a recording.

"What am I gonna do? The police are on their way – I can hear the sirens already! The neighbor probably saw the whole damn thing! What am I gonna do?"

"You gotta stay there! If the cops come they'll search the place and they'll find the stash!"

"What do I say? What do I say?"

"Just say it was an accident and hope to hell they don't ask too many questions. Act dumb, you're good at that!"

"Okay! Okay!" Nick heaved a few more breaths. "I gotta call 911 – I gotta call myself!"

"Fine – calm down, and call them!" said the voice. "Just don't say too much, you got it?"

"I got it!" replied Nick, his hands still shaking. "I got it. I won't say nothin'." The he pulled the phone away from his ear.

When the phone was in front of him again the horror of the crime scene melted away and he stood, calm, collected, and analytical, in the layout room at the lab. The phone was tucked in its evidence bag, and his hand was wrapped in a latex glove. As familiar sounds surrounded him again, he lifted his eyes off of the bloody phone and rested them on Mike Keppler.

"I don't know if I like this first-person method much," he drawled, his Texan-accented voice sounding normal again. "It's a little . . . strange. I don't know how interested I am in empathizing with the suspects."

Keppler shrugged. "Well, it's not for everyone. It does seem counter-intuitive to our work."

Nick nodded. If this was the approach that Keppler took with every case he worked, what did that say about the perspective he had on those cases? Did he overlook evidence, either inadvertently or on purpose, because he identified too much with the perpetrators of crimes?

"You'd certainly have to have a firm grasp on your priorities," Nick said.

With a slight grin, Keppler nodded. "Yeah, I suppose you would. Thanks for humoring me – I'll see you around, huh?"

"Yeah," replied Nick with his usual easy smile. "Sure."

When Keppler left the room Nick stared after him a moment. He was an odd duck, for sure. Catherine liked him, but these days Catherine was prone to like anyone who helped out around the lab and didn't complain.

Warrick popped his head into the evidence room then, pulling Nick out of his reverie. "We're still on for breakfast, right Nicky?"

"Yep," said Nick readily, picking up the phone and placing it back into the box that he'd pulled it out of. "You ready?"

"Yeah, just gotta get changed," replied Warrick. "You need help with something?" He pointed at the evidence box.

"Oh, this? No." Nick shook his head and pulled the box toward him. "Just wrapping it up. I was chattin' with Keppler about it."

"How'd that go?" asked Warrick, hoisting an eyebrow with a smirk.

Pausing a moment before he answered, Nick pursed his lips a little and nodded. "It was . . . yeah. It was, uh. . . ." He cleared his throat. "Uncomfortable."

Warrick chuckled. "You can tell me all about it over some runny eggs," he said. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Yeah, you will," replied Nick. He pulled the box off of the table and shook his head as he headed for the evidence locker. It was usually interesting to get a fresh perspective on things, but Keppler's made his skin crawl.

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(c) 2009 J. H. Thompson


End file.
